


When The Sun Doesn't Rise

by breakthebox



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Dean Winchester, Blood and Injury, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Dean Winchester is Protective of Sam Winchester, Forced, Hurt Sam Winchester, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Groping, Non-Consensual Touching, Protective Dean Winchester, Torture, Tortured Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:26:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22843240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakthebox/pseuds/breakthebox
Summary: Sam is, and always has been, Dean's biggest weakness. When his little brother is taken, disappearing without a trace, Dean will tear the world apart to find him. But when he does, going after Sam this time might be his biggest regret. Caught in a sick game of cat and mouse, the Winchester brothers quickly find themselves out of their depth in a big way.After all, if the sun doesn't chase away the darkness, what is going to save you from it?or, Sam is kidnapped and held hostage to force Dean into fighting supernatural ring fights. But it's affecting Dean more than any hunt usually would. How long can he take it before he becomes what he hates... a monster?
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	When The Sun Doesn't Rise

**Author's Note:**

> Hi Everyone! I hope you enjoy this WIP. I really enjoy writing this one, and will be updating regularly. Please let me know through kudos/comments if your like it and if it is worth continuing! Thanks x

The whispers grew louder as the two figures bent their heads together, foreheads almost touching, their lips moving in the dangerous designs of spellwork. It was dark where they stood, in a filthy back alley behind a bar too pathetic for a name. it was simply ‘the bar’ – the only watering hole here in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, Wyoming. Their voices grew more fevered as they gripped each other, their dark clothing wet and dripping – anyone walking past would have thought they were a random couple just caught in a sudden downpour. There had been a lot of this in the area, lately; perfect circles of rain, storms, generally only a few dozen feet across. They would appear as if from nowhere and then vanish just as quickly. The couple, however, had been nowhere near the rain – they were too smart for that. No, they were soaked in something far more insidious, though admittedly far less dangerous than those unnatural spot-storms.

The alley door from the bar swung open with a bang, light and laughter and the steady beat of a dime-a-dozen rock song filtering out of the opening. A man stood in the doorway, swaying, one hand in his too-long brown hair and the other dragging at the neck of his worn flannel button-up. He staggered from the bar, almost falling as he tripped down the stairs, standing unsteadily on the crumbling asphalt of the alleyway. The couple watched him in silence, their spell finished and wreaking its havoc. The man looked up at them, seeing two and then four and then two again as his eyesight failed him. He did notice, however, with a practiced clarity that came from years of hunting, the remnant crackle of magic in the air. With fumbling hands he pulled a pearl handled gun from the waistband of his jeans, but slow, too slow. One of the dark clothed figures lazily flicked his hand and the gun flew from the man’s hands. “What…have you…” The man slurred, struggling to speak at all. Then his body gave way to the spell and his hazel eyes rolled back into his head as he slumped to the ground, out cold and dreaming of blackness and nothing but.

The light from the open doorway played over the two people still standing, and they could appreciate how truly terrifying they looked – standing over the prone man in that dark alley, dressed head to foot in black and absolutely dripping with blood.

They smiled at each other and one licked their lips, shuddering in delight at the taste of fresh blood on their tongue. They had the weaker Winchester – now they simply had to wait for the real prize to come to them.

Sam groaned, a pained _guh_ noise that bubbled up like the blood at the corners of his mouth. He cracked his eyes open and hissed at the searing light burning his corneas, cut through only by his hair, stringy and blood slicked, hanging in front of his eyes.

He tried to lift his hands the push it out of his face and suddenly he was awake, completely. Awake, in pain, _bleeding_ and tied to a goddamn chair. He grunted as he flexed against his bonds – rope, and harsh rope at that. Expertly tied as it was, there was no chance he was getting free anytime soon. Struggling against it was useless, but he tried again nonetheless, taking in his surroundings with wild eyes. The room was white, clean. Antiseptic. Like a hospital room, only it was devoid of any furnishing. Sam was utterly alone and the chair he was bound to the only item in the room. His shoulders burned, and that alone told him he had been in this position for at least a few hours – his feet, numb, confirmed this too. Blood sluiced from a number of cuts on his face, arms, neck chest, thighs. His jeans were gone, leaving him only in his skin-tight black boxers and the bloodied and sliced grey t-shirt he had thrown on that morning – his flannel was gone too, disappeared along with his boots. Sam catalogued the injuries, giving up the count when he reached forty-three. Instead, he tried to decide which ones would need the most immediate medical attention once Dean had saved his ass. _Because he will come,_ Sam reminded himself. _He always comes._

A couple of the deeper cuts on his legs had strayed dangerously close to his femoral artery, and Sam decided those would be the first to be stitched up back at their motel room. Thinking back, Sam couldn’t remember anything beyond heading to the bathroom at that dive bar Dean had insisted on going to. They had just wrapped up an absolute bitch of a Wendigo hunt but had managed to save the two teens that were next on the monster’s menu. Dean was determined to celebrate, and even went so far as to promise that Sam could pick the music when they took off the next morning if he tagged along to the bar with his older brother. There was no chance Sam would pass up that opportunity. An hour later he had found himself pleasantly tipsy with three beers under his belt in a booth opposite Dean, laughing at something ridiculous his brother had said, when he felt the urge to pee. He had slid from the booth and walked towards the back, following the sign to the restroom. And then… what? Try as he might it was like there was a brick wall between him and the rest of the night.

Sam jerked his head up at the sound of a door opening behind him and his adrenaline surged again. He whipped his head from side to side, nostrils flaring, as he tried to catch a glimpse of his captor (captors?). Two people flanked him, one on either side, slowly moving until they met again in front of their prisoner. The smaller of the two, a slight girl no older than 23 with a look of Indian or maybe Bangladeshi descent about her drank in the sight of the bound hunter. Lightly she approached him, and Sam flexed against the ropes, watching her apprehensively. With a steady hand she reached out and dragged a finger down the side of his neck, collecting his blood on the tip. She slipped the bloodied finger into her mouth and rolled her eyes shut at the taste, letting out a moan so soft Sam half thought he had imagined it. His stomach turned at the look on the woman’s face before his attention was dragged to the other captor, chuckling behind the woman with an indulgent look on his face. He was tall, almost as tall as Sam, and pale as Death. His eyes, a dark green almost too rich to be real. Hair as colourless as his skin. He looked older than the woman, but not by much – a few years, maybe. The woman opened her eyes, pupils dilated so considerably they almost swallowed the soft brown of her irises. She turned her back on Sam and went to the pale man, slipping her hand into his and resting the side of her head against his arm.

“What the hell are you?” Sam said, voice calm and razor sharp. “Vampires?”

The pale man 'tsked' at that. “Those beasts?” He shook his head dismissively. His voice was deeper than Sam expected, coloured with an accent he couldn’t quite place. “We are far superior to _Vampires_ , Samuel.” His lips curled with distaste, as if he detested even having to say the word.

“Who are you, then?” Sam ground out.

The man nodded to the woman on his arm and she smiled brilliantly. She pressed a hand to her chest. “I’m Gabby, and this is my husband, Lee.” She looked at him expectantly. When he didn’t say anything, she sighed. “Look, I’m sorry about the…cutting. You are just so delicious, and I couldn’t help myself – fresh drawn blood tastes the best, what can I say?” She had the gall to blush and laugh lightly. Sam had never wanted to hit a woman so badly in his entire life. “Lee-bee says I need to learn to control my appetite, but I’ve never been one for self-discipline.”

“What did you do to me?” He asked, and then, “My brother is going to find me.”

“Oh, Samuel.” Lee smiled, thin lips stretching over perfectly normal teeth. “We’re counting on that.”


End file.
